Think Me Beautiful
by StoryGirl02
Summary: “You think I need a gift?” she asked, tugging her hand away from his. She shifted up higher on the bed, her face lowered as she gazed at her bandaged arms. “You think, after all of this, a simple stone is going to make it suddenly all better?"


**Think Me Beautiful**

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Dark circles rimmed her ears as she struggled to sit up in the bed, her face expertly patched up with thick white bandages. The nightgown was loose around her bare legs and her hair was pulled back tightly, allowing none of the horrible red blood that constantly soaked through her bandages to touch any of the blonde strands. A white chair beside her sat empty, never filled. There were never any visitors. No one wanted to visit her, the freak, the scarred one, the one that had been attacked and bore visible signs of it.

No one ever came; no one filled the chair, the silence.

Until him.

A smile on his face, he whistled happily as he walked through, shedding his heavy coat. He rummaged for a while in her pocket before drawing something out, tossing it from hand to hand as he walked forwards to take a seat in the chair. "You can't sit there," she suddenly blurted out, her skin itching. She resisted the urge to horribly scratch it, and instead folded her hands in her lap, her face burning red with embarrassment.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, the smile disappearing. She longed for it to come back. The stone paused in his left hand, his eyes glancing up at her. "And why not?" he questioned, pursing his lips. She struggled to breathe, her eyes glazing over with dizziness. Her throat constricted tightly and she knew her skin was burning up. "Hey, hey there," he whispered, rubbing her back softly, his breath hot in her ear.

There was a soft chuckle as he sat himself down on the bed, his shoes slipped off and dumped on the floor. She opened her eyes to find him, a smile on his face, and the stone resuming its tossing, carelessly thrown from hand to hand. "Sorry," she mumbled, suddenly wishing for a mirror. What she must look like, even to a man who had seen the horridness of war, even to a man like _him? _

"Nothing to be sorry about," he told her, his words thrown carelessly around, like leaves tossed by the spring wind. He suddenly stretched forward and grasped her hand within his, running his thumb over her fingers. A smile came to her lips, small, but a smile nonetheless. "Here," he said, tossing something so that it landed in her lap. She picked it up, rolling it in her fingers, her eyes examining the stone. "That's why I haven't come earlier," he explained, his eyes meeting hers. "I would have, but I couldn't find the right gift to bring."

"You think I need a gift?" she asked, tugging her hand away from his. She shifted up higher on the bed, her face lowered as she gazed at her bandaged arms. "You think, after all of this, a simple stone is going to make it suddenly all better? It isn't, Seamus, and I hope you know that nothing will ever make this better. Nothing in the world could make the face seem beautiful, make me happy about the way I look now."

"It isn't like that, I swear!" he said, waving his hands in front of him as if to plead innocence.

She crossed her arms, still refusing to meet his eyes. "That's what it seems like. You want to give me a gift, to shower me with presents, so I forget about all of this and become happy old Lavender again."

"It isn't just a gift," he told him, picking up the stone from where she had thrown it onto the starch-white blankets. He waved it in front of her. "It's fluorite," he said, as if that would explain everything. A triumphant grin of his face, he placed it back in her lap, before pecking her softly on the head. "Look, I've got to go, but I'll be back tomorrow, alright?"

She nodded stiffly, thumbing the stone in her hands. His footsteps faded away, and she heard him whistling merrily as he walked down the hall. The stone was flat, smooth, and an odd shade of purple. Her mind whirled softly, and she hurriedly threw the covers off herself, her legs shaking as she walked towards the door.

The stone in her hands, she rushed down the hall as fast as she could, her legs shaking underneath her weight. It would be ages until she regained full use of them, and was confident enough to run without help. Her heart drummed against her skin, the stone warm in her cold hands, her body shivering in the night nightgown.

"Seamus!" she called, peering around the corner. _There._ He was walking away, his hands in his pockets, and wisps of hair curling around his neck. _"Seamus!"_ she yelled, a smile on her face as he turned around, his brow furrowed as he took her shivering form in.

He tore off his coat, rushing towards her. The coat was settled around her shoulders, and he drew her to him, rubbing her back with her hand. "You must be freezing," he exclaimed, shaking his head down at her. She smiled softly. Holding up the stone, she looked at him. "It's lavender," she said, before lowering her gaze. He let out a deep breath, before titling her head upwards, his eyes searching hers. "Of course," he replied, a beam playing on his lips. "It'll help you to heal, hopefully, and the woman who was selling them said it would provide clarity."

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd be holding, wrapping her arms around his waist. He let out a soft chuckle, before their lips crashed together. "A lavender fluorite stone for my Lavender," he gasped out, once they had pulled apart. Her heart raced at those words, a steady smile on her lips. His _Lavender… _

Years later that stone was formed into a smaller one, and placed inside a ring. The ring was slipped onto her finger, and the scars hardly mattered as she kissed him, his hand resting on her slowly growing stomach. Nothing mattered with Seamus around. He thought her beautiful, even with the horrid scars, even with the pregnancy, even with the nightmares.

She was his Lavender, and he would be beside her, be her support, forever.

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**Aww! Now, who loves Seamus? *raises hand* I wrote him without the Irish lilt in this, becuase I would honestly muck it up, so just imagine Devon Murray talking in your head whenever you read his talking. Reviews are love, and doesn't the world need more of that?**


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